


Under Greg's thumb.

by Strangecat_Ramsey



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Fingerfucking, Humiliation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:51:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strangecat_Ramsey/pseuds/Strangecat_Ramsey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for Kink MEME Prompt.<br/>Fully clothed Lestrade has completely naked Mycroft over his lap, lazily fingerfucking him when suddenly Sherlock and John or some of the Yarders (or all of them?) burst into his flat. Unimpressed Lestrade just continues to fingerfuck a squirming, utterly embarrassed Mycroft.</p><p>Bonus if the conversation slowly turns from the current case to Mycroft's abused and sore looking hole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Greg's thumb.

Greg was in a peculiar mood this evening. He’d arrived home to find Mycroft in his normal chair beside the fire, so deep in thought that he hadn’t even noticed that Greg had arrived. It wasn’t until he was standing beside him that Mycroft even noticed that someone was there. Of course he didn’t show how startled he was, he had of course gotten used to being snuck up upon and could hide it fairly well.

He smiled up at Greg glad to have him home, the case that he had been working on had called his attention completely for the last week and the man was definitely in need of a rest. He took Greg’s hand into his kissing the back of it, only to have Greg’s hand crush his, causing him to wince, having not expected it. He’d made a habit of not reading Greg whenever possible as it only seemed to irk him. However in this instance it seemed necessary. 

The eyes that met his were dark and angry…but thankfully not with him. The case had obviously gone unsolved and someone had obviously suffered for his failure to do so. He would have called Sherlock in on the case of course. Which would only mean that he was probably feeling worse. Someone had died tonight and he couldn’t save them. Oh dear…

“Bad Case?” he asked softly, already knowing the answer, again kissing the back of Greg’s hand relieved to find that he was no longer crushing his fingers, his eyes intently staring at him as if expecting something.

Mycroft stood slowly, tugging at his hand gently to get it released, walking over to the fireplace to pour his beloved partner a glass of brandy, before returning to him, putting it down on the side table beside the plush wide high wingback chair, helping Greg into it slowly, before stepping back, kneeling before him and gently removing Greg’s shoes, taking the time to gently kiss the top of each of Greg’s feet, before elegantly rising before Greg, slowly slipping his tie off of his neck, raising a questioning eyebrow, Greg nodding at the side table to indicate that he should place it there, before taking the shoe’s to the bedroom, grabbing a tube of lube from the bedside table and a box of tissues, returning back to the family room, to find Greg still seated, staring moodily at the fireplace, sipping his brandy thoughtfully.

He walked over having removed his own shoe’s while in the bedroom along with his tie and waistcoat, placing the lube and tissues beside Greg, startled to find it was Greg’s turn to kiss the back of his hand, staring up at him apologetically. Mycroft of course understood. It wasn’t very often that Greg needed to feel utterly in control of something, but cases like these were hard on him and when he couldn’t control them, he’d need to control something. Mycroft of course didn’t mind, he’d do anything for Greg, it wasn’t as if he didn’t have his own control issues, and Greg had always seen to his needs then, as he would see to Greg’s now.

Mycroft smiled reassuringly at him, stroking his fingers over the palm of Greg’s hand as Greg beckoned him to stand closer, taking his time to remove the exquisite platinum cuff-links, placing them on the side table, before moving to unbutton each of Mycroft’s button’s, slowly and with reverence, Mycroft knowing not to move until he was told or motioned stood still, allowing his shirt to be removed and placed over the back of his chair, his undershirt quickly followed by his trousers were quickly placed over the chair as well, and soon he was standing before Greg in all his Glory, the firelight making his skin glow gold for Greg.

Greg stared up at him, his eye’s silently warning Mycroft that he would go hard on him tonight, and that this was his last chance to back away, that he would understand if Mycroft would rather not. He knew that Mycroft’s job was probably harder than his in a lot of ways, and he didn’t want to hurt him if it could be avoided. Mycroft just stared back not moving before taking a breath and dropping his gaze, willing to wait all night if Greg wanted him to.

He wasn’t surprised when Greg took both of his hands into his, kissing each wrist before spinning him around, tying his hand’s behind him as he did so, fingers tracing his spine, pulling him into his lap so that he could Fondle Mycroft’s semi hard cock, placing a bite mark at the base of Mycroft’s neck, sinking into his flesh firmly, before pushing Mycroft off his lap roughly to land with a thud in front of the fire, his knee’s splayed awkwardly, as he used his shoulder to try and hold himself up.

“Spread your legs and raise your arse Myke. I want a good view of that hole of yours.” 

Mycroft swallowed feeling his face glow, the sound of Greg’s thicker accent telling him that he was having some effect on his mood. Shifting up his knee’s probably slightly bruised from the fall, grateful for the plush rug before the fireplace, still not quite used to being so exposed, even if it were just Greg. Spreading his legs as soon as he was at an angle that he knew Greg would be able to see…all of him, a large part of him glad that he were able to hide his red face from view.

Greg sat back comfortably in his chair, crossing his leg’s taking up the snifter of brandy to watch Mycroft, who’s ears were turning an adorable shade of red at being held under such scrutiny, wondering how long it would take for him start feeling truly uncomfortable.

Mycroft could feel Greg’s steely gaze on him, his face flushing darker as he felt his arse hole involuntarily twitching before Greg gaze, earning an amused huff from the man as he shifted forward slapping him, leaving a large red mark painted on one side of his arse, very close to his twitching hole.

“Eager little slut aren’t you?” Greg teased slapping the other cheek, before laying a hard slap directly over Mycroft’s hole causing him to cry out in surprise, Greg laying down a further succession of hard slap’s over his exhibited hole before sitting back in his chair, watching Mycroft, blushing so hard (whether from arousal or embarrassment he wasn’t sure).

Mycroft bit his tongue, his whole body feeling on fire, trying to breath and finding it difficult to in this position, turning his head, finding a view of Greg’s reflection in the highly polished coal scuttle beside the fire as he started to stroke himself through his trousers, his gaze focussed solely on Mycroft’s hole, as if planning something diabolical. Mycroft swallowed hard, trying not to think about this, relaxing, willing to do anything for Greg.

Greg sighed softly as Mycroft finally relaxed, giving up his control to him. It was a small victory for Greg, and it raised his spirits. But he was far from done. He wanted to take Mycroft apart piece by piece tonight, before putting him back together slowly.

“Get up and put yourself over my lap slut. That hole looks like it needs something…” The something seemed to imply ‘something’, but Mycroft wasn’t about to resist. He shifted his position, putting the brandy down, not wanting to drink too much tonight.

Mycroft struggled to get up, Greg not offering any assistance, sitting back a satisfied smile on his face as Mycroft finally got himself up onto his knee’s after a good few minutes of struggling, his chest heaving, his face red from exertion and possibly embarrassment, his cock swaying in front of him as he didn’t bother standing, shuffling forward onto his knees, refusing to meet Greg’s eyes as he pushed his chest against the side of Greg’s leg wiggling himself up onto it, groaning as first his nipples met the rough fabric of his trousers then his cock nestled against it, the chair wide enough for him to spread his leg’s for Greg to have an up-close and personal view of Mycroft’s hole, as his head and upper body were pushed over the side of the chair, giving Greg access to everything.

Greg sat savouring the moment, stroking Mycroft’s flanks, playing fingers over his spine as he did so, watching Mycroft half turned head as it sagged down, willing to allow him to do anything for him. Checking that they were both as comfortable as possible in this position, Greg took his time stroking his flesh, peppering smack’s over Mycroft’s backside every time he moved, until he completely stopped squirming, trying to get more friction for his cock. 

Enjoying the moment of utter surrender, he allowed his fingers to stroke lower down and up the crack of Mycrofts arse enjoying the way he shivered, not anticipating just letting Greg do what he wanted to. He finally reached over to the lube that Mycroft had so thoughtfully brought for him, slicked his fingers and dragging them down Mycroft’s crack inserting a single finger into him slipping it in and out, tugging at Mycrofts ring ever once in awhile, until Mycroft started to squirm again, removing his finger and inserting another he grinned at the tiny whine, Mycroft now painfully hard against his leg, his free hand petting his head as he scissored his fingers, deliberately rubbing Mycroft’s prostate for a moment, listening to his deliberately deep breath’s hitching.

He sat for a long while deliberately using only two fingers on Mycroft who was beginning to get desperate, trying to move back onto the finger’s that weren’t enough by far to get him off, himself amazed at how much control Greg had, as his cock pulsed beneath Mycroft. Greg wasn’t having any of it and gripped hold of Mycroft’s neck squeezing it in warning, deliberately jabbing roughly into his hole.

He felt like he had been there all night his hole stinging slightly as a 3rd finger was finally added, stretching him more, Greg more than happy to sit here all night as he hooked his fingers tugging around Mycroft ring, moving back to rub his prostate watching sweat drops forming over Mycroft’s body, pooling and dropping from his body, shaking beneath his hand, Greg waiting for Mycroft to start begging him, Mycroft sitting in a warm haze, wincing at every new movement, Greg never setting a permanent pace, changing it, it was unsaid that he wouldn’t be allowed release until Greg was satisfied with him, but he knew it.  
They had been at it for a while before they both became aware of voices in the corridor, it sounded sort of like 2 men arguing about something. One was most definitely John Watson’s, hearing him complain that it was well past midnight and that bothering Lestrade while he was visiting his brother was definitely not a good idea.

The other man that was DEFINITELY Sherlock’s argued that the case was of more importance than some fling he was having with his brother, and it was clear that both men were awake anyway and not in the bedroom so they would be safe from any unfortunate awkward scene…how wrong they were.

Mycroft after a moment of paralyzing fear suddenly started to struggle, trying to push himself up with his shoulders; leg’s kicking furiously as their footsteps got closer. Greg growled in warning, pushing him back down fingers spreading wide enough to stop any struggling, shards of pain and pleasure rocketing through him, as annoyingly his cock seemed to twitch and harden against Greg’s leg soaking it with precum.

He whined softly trying to force himself to breath. His brother was going to see him like _this_. He would _never_ be able to live this down! Sherlock would make it his personal mission to end his reputation. It couldn’t be worse if he possibly tried to imagine it. 

Greg watched the inner conflict with annoyance. He had not wanted to be interrupted, and he’d be damned if he were about to stop what he was doing so that Sherlock could spoil this for him! Wasn’t he allowed a moment of pleasure with his partner after a long hard week?

“Gregory…please!” Mycroft managed between panicked breaths still trying to kick and squirm free. This wasn’t happening! This.Was.Not.Happening!

“Breath Myke. I’m not stopping, you can close your eyes if you want but this will continue.” Greg’s voice was so sure of itself that Mycroft knew he wasn’t going anywhere. He started down at the ground before his face, wishing it would open up and swallow him right now, feeling dizzy as blood rushed to his face, still squirming, annoyed that his hard cock kept snagging against Greg’s lap, closing his eye’s feeling the sting as he fought back tears, he was NOT going to let Sherlock see him cry on top of this.

He heard the door open a minute later, Greg’s fingers moving in and out in a deliberate rhythm determined to keep him completely focussed, unable to sink into the moment, as he kept getting pulled back every time that Greg brushed against his now hyper sensitive and tender prostate. He didn’t know what he had done to make Greg so mean to him.

Somewhere near the door he heard two breath’s hitching tightly, the footsteps having stuttered to a stop as the two obviously caught sight of Greg and exactly what he was doing. The hard look on his face would have normal men running away as fast as possible. It just so happened that both these men in particular seemed to get off on danger and after a few moments of taking in the scene walked into the room, standing at either side of the chair staring down at Greg, trying not to stare too much at Mycroft.

“We need access to the laboratory Lestrade. Anderson’s being stupid again.” Sherlock said in a totally normal voice, Mycroft opened his eyes seeing Sherlock’s feet on the floor near his head. Lestade gave them both a ‘why should I give a fuck’ look before scissoring his finger’s so wide that Mycroft felt himself choke on his own saliva, fingers balling into fists as he fought to gain his breath. Wondering if he could possibly die of embarrassment. His face so red it looked almost maroon right down to his neck, white speckles standing out around his neck as Goosebumps formed, his chest even beginning to flush, but gratefully they wouldn’t have noticed that since he was lying on it.

Mycroft started to lose track of the conversation when a 4th finger was added, slipping into him with more ease than would normally have happened, but Greg had been fingering him for quite a while, he would have been prepared for a fist if this continued. But this was starting to become painful. Between the flush to his face and the blood rushing to his cock Mycroft was beginning to truly feel light headed. 

He began to squirm and wiggle. A part of him that wasn’t busy lying in a corner dying from embarrassment realised that it would be dangerous to continue. Greg wouldn’t be happy with him if he did, the deliberate stretch and stabbing of Greg’s fingers and the rough warning hand resting on the back of his flushed neck warned him against continuing such behaviour. 

Somewhere in the background he heard Sherlock arguing that if he had access to a lab by now, he would have solved the crime already, John quibbling that if he managed to solve the crime he’d be bored in half an hour anyway so what was the rush? Sherlock’s indignant argument’s that there were people suffering out there. That there might be a new victim out there just waiting for the serial killer. John in return asked if he would even care? It was just a case after all. 

Greg’s voice cracked as hard as a whip between them, clearly wanting to sort this out quickly. Mycroft felt the blood drain momentarily from his face as he heard _that_ tone. He’d only once heard it and the results had not being to his liking. He turned his head to get a better look at Greg’s face, impressed to find him forcing them to ask Sherlock exactly what he was going on about.

Sherlock frowned for a moment turning his focus on Mycroft , so much so that he managed to catch Mycroft’s eye, smiling down at him. Mycroft choked in horror starting to squirm again wanting to get away as quickly as possible, Sherlock’s blue interested cat like eyes meeting his before walking around staring intently on the other end. Thankfully for Mycroft he had gone back to closing his eyes pretending to be a piece of air. His breathing becoming erratic. 

Greg’s fingers slipped in and out and he focussed on that instead of what was going on, Greg’s fingers stroking over his prostate more frequently, his cock starting to feel desperate. They had been at this for longer than normal. Greg would have let him get off soon if it hadn’t been for John and Sherlock, Greg fingering him so hard that he was driving Mycroft’s cock to hump against his leg probably deliberately.

There was some more talking in the background but he’d given up, this had happened, trying to contain his mantra that this was what Greg wanted, he would do whatever Greg wanted, not believing him at all, but finally sinking back into relaxation, his face still maroon and there was a definite headache forming between his brow, but there was nothing he could do. 

The conversation went on for quite awhile, he hadn’t been listening at all, Greg seeming to have relaxed when he relaxed. But then he felt a breath right against his wet hole, Greg’s fingers stopping but seeming to curl protectively within him adding an increasing pressure to his prostate, causing him to cry out. He really was sensitive and sore. He felt swollen and abused and the tear’s that formed behind his eyes were real, this time his body felt boiling, like steam floating in a cold room. He curled his hands in dismay fingernails digging into his palm trying to divert his attention, starting to feel embarrassed again.

“How long have you been doing that Lestrade? He does seem rather swollen? I might even suggest slightly bruised?” asked John unable to help himself from asking as a doctor. Sherlock snorted leaning forward examining the hole around Greg’s fingers with a cold neglect that one would not expect from family.

“A good hour, probably more, what you should really be asking is why Lestrade’s fingers aren’t cramping! Really John. Anyway. Access to the laboratory Lestrade? I haven’t got all night!” Sherlock moaned childishly heading to the door in a few strides; Greg obviously nodded as Sherlock just continued to walk.

Mycroft could feel himself hyperventilating; he couldn’t continue like this, something had to happen. He could feel John still hadn’t moved, his eyes digging into him. His head was going to explode. Greg was adding continuous pressure to his prostate… He didn’t want to come with people watching, but what he wanted was obviously not what Greg was worried about?

“Will he be alright?” John shifted taking a step back quietly before practically fleeing, falling over himself as he went after Sherlock, Gregory had grinned in a way that implied that if he stuck around he’d be asking himself that.

“They’re gone Myke.” Muttered Greg his fingers now prodding at Mycrofts prostate so forcefully that he didn’t give him any choice, Mycroft whining softly.

“please!”

“Cum Myke. Such a good boy.”

Mycroft arched shooting quietly into Greg’s lap, too exhausted to do anything more, it felt intense, his head swimming as he finally released, the wet feeling against his belly suggesting that Greg quickly followed suit.

Later Mycroft woke up in bed to find Greg staring at him, the same fingers that had been so hard on him, gently stroking his hair, looking soft and contented with life again, his other hand holding up a phone as he listened to it.

Mycroft tried to shift, his shoulders aching as he did, wincing at the tweeking ache deep inside of him, Gregory frowning using his fingers to massage Mycroft’s shoulders, putting down the phone and using his other hand to massage his other shoulder.

“The case has been solved…too late though” Greg muttered looking down at Mycroft who was looking up at him, face flaming slightly as he remembered the visit.

“Good…hmmm not your fault…but you are still an Ass Hole Gregory.” Grumbled Mycroft moaning tightly as Greg found a particularly hard knot in his shoulder working on it.

“But I’m your ass hole Myke” Greg answered amused kissing Mycroft gently on the lips.

“I’m going to flay your skin when I remember how to use my legs…How am I supposed to face Sherlock again?” Greg grinned evilly, pulling Mycroft up onto his lap cradling him against him, stroking his cock gently, allowing Mycroft full control if he wanted it.

“How would flaying me be more satisfying than revenge Myke? And you loved it as much as you hated it didn’t you?” Mycroft grumbled pressing himself firmly against Greg.

“You forget two very important things Gregory. The first being that I never admit to anything, and even under torture will deny everything. And I have access to Scotland yard and have no problem chaining you to your desk and letting the yard see you!”

Greg swallowed hard as Mycroft grinned evilly, a million mental images falling into place, squeezing Mycrofts cock harder trying to stop that train of thought immediately  



End file.
